


Every Road Never Taken

by aban_ataashi



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, canonical death is overrated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 06:21:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18309935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aban_ataashi/pseuds/aban_ataashi
Summary: You're an outcast.Or you're a noble.Or you're a criminal.Or you're lost.Whatever you are, you're in trouble. And Duncan isn't here to save you.





	Every Road Never Taken

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! So yes, canon says that all origin characters not chosen by the player end up dying. But I'd much rather imagine them all out on their own adventures, so here are my own ideas on where those characters end up when they don't become Wardens. Enjoy!

You do not go quietly into the dungeons.

At one point you manage to get an arm free and very nearly make an escape, only to be brought to the ground moments later. It’s a wonder the guards don’t simply kill you then and have done with it.

Your crime requires something grander, you suppose. A trial before the arl, public execution. There is no other end to this story, and that dark truth hangs over your head like a heavy cloud. Still, you don’t, won’t, _can’t_ accept it. You fight even as you are thrown into the arl’s dungeons and left in the dark.

For a long time, the only sounds are the distant dripping of water and your own heavy breathing. You wait in exhausted anticipation for the guards to return. The arl’s son lies dead by your hand. The shems will want justice swiftly.

 _Justice._ Ha.

A chill sets in, and you realize you’re still in your wedding clothes, the simple finery now tattered and bloodstained. You sink to the floor and let out a single delirious laugh that echoes across the dungeon halls.

One elf with a stolen sword fought through an army of trained soldiers. It sounds like the sort of story that the Alienage children would dream up and whisper to each other. The sort of story that would make your father worry and your mother smile. The sort of story you and Shianni would reenact with play weapons fashioned from the branches of the _venedhal._

At least you have one comfort. Whatever else happens today, Shianni is safe.

You don’t know how long it’s been when the dungeon door opens with a resounding clang. The sudden noise brings you to your feet, despite your protesting body. You are in no condition to fight, but you prepare to do so anyway.

To your surprise, it is not a guard who approaches but an elf, older and dressed in servant attire. He greets you with an easy smile as if you’re simply crossing paths at the market rather than inside a prison cell.

“You must be the one who caused all the fuss upstairs,” he says lightly.

You can only stare in surprise. “And you are?”

He smiles. “Right now, what’s important is that I’m a Friend.” From the way he speaks, you can tell he’s capitalizing the word in his mind. “And I believe you have the potential to be one as well.”

“Friend… to who?”

“Friend…,” the old man takes a dramatic pause and bows deeply, “of Red Jenny.”

The name is unfamiliar. “I don’t-”

Voices ring out from a nearby room, and you fall silent until they fade into the distance.

“There will be time to explain further,” the man says brusquely. “We must leave before the chaos subsides.” He fishes through his pockets and produces an iron key. “Are you ready for an escape?”

 _This must be a dream,_ you think, but a smile spreads across your face anyway. “I’m in.”

 

* * *

 

Everybody knows that you don’t go into the Deep Roads alone. Even scouts that travel ahead of expeditions are sent in twos or threes. The dangers are simply too great- collapsing tunnels, wild deepstalkers, and of course, darkspawn.

To enter the Deep Roads alone is a death sentence.

You stagger through the tunnel, trying desperately to make as little noise as possible. The breastplate you wear is too large, and the rattling of metal echoes unnaturally through the cavern. The armor, along with the sword you carry, belonged to a man whose name you will never know, some poor soul who died here and was never recovered.

His bad fortune is your good. You were stripped of equipment before your exile. Surviving a day in the Deep Roads without protection or weapons is impossible. Surviving with a pilfered breastplate and sword is… slightly less so.

Footsteps echo down the tunnel, and you bite down a curse as you press yourself against the wall, praying to whatever Ancestors are still listening that the darkspawn pass by. You’re strong- strong enough that both of your brothers saw you as a threat- but even you can’t keep this up forever. At some point, you will be overwhelmed.

The mental image of your brother, smug and secure, sets your blood boiling. He thinks he’s won. But you’re not dead yet, and you plan to keep it that way. Somehow.

The footsteps grow louder, and you grip on your stolen sword tightens. Before you can attack, however, you hear the last thing you expect.

“Less darkspawn than usual. Don’t know whether I should be relieved or worried.”

“Let the commander worry. I’m enjoying the quiet.”

The shock of the voices- not just the garbled noises darkspawn make, but real _dwarven_ voices- has you moving before you even know who is speaking. You don’t know if these people are friendly, but you’re already in the Deep Roads alone with no supplies. You don’t see how things can get more dangerous.

You leave the shadows and find yourself facing two dwarves, a man and a woman. The man yelps in surprise at the sight of you, and the woman draws her weapon. In a panic, you throw your hands up. “Wait! I just need help!”

The woman pauses, and you can sense her confusion. “How the blazes did you end up here?”

For a moment, you don’t know what to say. How much should you explain? Would these people offer aid to disgraced royalty? Finally, you just shrug. “I was sent here to die.”

Oddly, the man’s face lights up. “Us too!” He studies you. “I don’t know why you’re here, but you’re still walking, so I assume you can use that sword. The commander will want to meet you.”

“Who?”

“That’s not a bad idea!” Now grinning with excitement, the woman motions for you to follow and begins leading you down the tunnel. “Whoever you are, the Legion of the Dead is always accepting new members.”

 

* * *

 

Against all odds, it turns out to be a good thing that they placed you in the cells. It means you’re sequestered away when the demons come.

Keeping track of time is difficult as a prisoner. You’re not certain how long it’s been since the incident with Jowan. Despite everything, you don’t quite regret helping him. You really only had two friends here, and he was one of them. But after his scheme was uncovered, Jowan had fled, leaving you and your remaining friend to be carted to the cells.

And here you remain while Irving and Greagor argue over what to do with the two of you. Whatever they are planning becomes irrelevant once the commotion above splits the silence around you.

It starts with screaming- screaming that you recognize from Templars and mages mixed in with unnatural noises that you can’t place.

“What’s going on!?” You shout, but no answer comes. The Templars that normally stand just outside the doors are gone. You stand helplessly in your cell for a few moments, but as the noises above increase, your desperation peaks. Summoning your mana, you reach out with a burst of energy that sends the bars of your cell flying against the wall.

It’s not like you can get in much more trouble, anyway.

A similar burst from across the hall lets you know that your friend has followed suit, and soon both of you are pounding on the thick dungeon door. The cacophony beyond the door is too chaotic to decipher, but you know in your bones something horrible is happening.

At last, you are able to make out the voices of the Templars. But what you hear is not comforting.

“Come! We’re sealing the doors!”

“Wait! Surana and Amell are still locked below!”

“We don’t have time! We need to contain the demons!”

The voices grow dim. You lock eyes with your friend as the realization hits. Nobody is coming for you.

At first you can do nothing but stare at each other in shock, but soon enough your friend shakes themselves off and grabs your arm. “I have an idea.”

The two of you make your way to the only source of light in the dungeons- a barred window overlooking the lake. It’s small, but not too small for an elf or human to squeeze through.

The metal screeches as it is bent away by your magic, but nobody is around to hear. Outside that window, beyond the gray lake, waits a world you barely know. You look to your fellow mage, soon to be fellow apostate.

“They have our phylacteries.”

“They’ll think we’re dead. Whatever’s happening, there’s going to be a lot of bodies left behind.”

“Can you swim?”

“Probably.”

“Are you scared?”

The two of you fall silent. You look out the window again, and you know such a chance doesn’t come twice in a lifetime. “We can do this if we stick together.”

Your words are met with a smile. “Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

You shuffle your feet as the guards lead you through the streets, hoping to delay the journey as long as possible. The nobles will want a public execution, and you hope that’s something that takes a lot of preparation. Even now, there must be a way for you to escape, just like you escaped the Carta hideout.

At least Leske managed to get away. You don’t blame him for running- he would only get himself killed trying to free you. But your hope isn’t completely gone, and you’re contemplating escape plans when the sound of running footsteps draws near and the guard leading you forward stops dead in his tracks.

“What-”

“A message from the prince!”

Your head snaps up in surprise at the familiar voice. Rica stands in the middle of the road, looking terrified and holding out a scroll.

The guard regards her with disdain. “A royal message would never be delivered by a _Casteless._ Get out of the way or we’ll bring you in, too.”

“Just look!” Rica insists, and although her voice shakes she stands her ground. “These orders come directly from Prince Bhelen himself.”

The guard sighs and swipes the scroll from her hand. His eyes narrow as he takes in the official-looking seal, and then widen with anger as he reads the words. “Impossible!”

“Take it up with the prince,” Rica says, and you grin at her nerve. Then, miraculously, the guard lowers his weapons and signals to the others to do the same.

“I plan to,” the guard growls. “And once we sort this out, we’ll be back for _both_ your heads.” The guard turns with a huff and begins unlocking your shackles.

As they march away, you think you must still be locked in a cell, and this is some sort of desperate hallucination. Then Rica is hugging you, and you realize it’s _real._

“How did you that?!”

Rica laughs wildly. “I have… connections, now. I told you about my patron.”

“He did _this?”_

“Well…” Rica blushes. “I might have stolen a seal he keeps in his desk…”

“You’re amazing.”

 _“_ And _you_ have to leave before they realize what I did.”

But you can’t go home. Everyone in this city wants to kill you. There’s only one place left. “I’ll go the surface.”

Rica bites her lip, but nods. “It’s the only safe option. I’ll delay the guards as long as I can. Can you get out of here alone?”

“Of course. But I can’t just abandon you.”

“I’ll be okay.” There’s worry in Rica’s face, but determination, too. “My patron won’t be pleased, but he wants to keep me around.”  She gives one last, tight hug, then turns away and hurries after the guards.

Despite the concern you still feel for your sister, you know she’s right. She’s a Brosca, and Brosca’s are tough. With that knowledge, you head the other direction- away from the city you’ve known all your life, and towards the doors that lead out into the sun.

 

* * *

 

Never before has the road from Highever felt so long.

Of course, you’ve usually made the journey by cart, or at least on horseback. You’ve usually had food and a change of clothes. And you’ve usually been with-

You bite your lip hard and focus back on the road, not allowing your thoughts to stray. You can’t afford to break down now. You need to be strong, like your father would have wanted.

“What is it, dear?”

Your mother’s words rouse you from your thoughts, and you angrily blink away the tears that have begun to form in the corners of your eyes. You drop your gaze to the mabari at your side, focusing instead on scratching his ears as you walk, finding a small amount of solace in the familiar action. “It’s nothing.”

Your mother does not push. Perhaps she is lost in her own memories, her own grieving. If so, she does not show it- she has not cried a single tear since the two of you escaped.

You had to leave. Otherwise, Howe’s men would have killed you, just as they killed your father and your nephew and your soldiers and servants. So much death- your first real battle, in the last place you would have ever expected.

But it still feels wrong. You'd wanted to stay, to stand beside your father and fight to the death. And you could tell by the hard anger that burned in your mother’s eyes that she did, too. Still, your father begged you to run, and your mother could not let you go alone.

After hours of walking in pained silence, you reach a fork in the roadway. Your mother nods towards the eastern road. “This way.”

You hesitate. “To Denerim? But the king is at Ostagar.”

“We won’t arrive there in time. Not on our own, and not with Howe’s forces on the road searching for us. In Denerim, we can appeal to the queen. Anora wields more power than her husband, anyway, and has always respected me; once she learns the truth of Howe’s crimes, she will see to it that we have our justice.”

There is an edge to your mother’s voice that you have never heard before. There is a strange comfort to it, an echoing of your own pain that you haven’t yet been able to fully process.

Listening to your mother speak of justice, you let that pain-the grief, the betrayal, the _anger-_ wash over you. And you know there is only one form of justice that you can possibly accept. “I want to kill Howe.”

For a moment you think your mother will admonish you; she has always tried to keep you away from the battlefield, has always encouraged you to use diplomacy before picking up the sword. But instead she puts a steady hand on your shoulder and looks you in the eyes, and for perhaps the first time you see clearly why she was once known as the Seawolf.

“We will.”

 

* * *

 

It is a routine hunting trip, just you and Tamlen tracking deer and scaring away shems. Even the ruins you stumble across are a source of curiosity rather than caution. Until you find the mirror.

Tamlen moves towards it, entranced, even as your instincts warn you to get _away._ When Tamlen reaches his arm out, as if to run his fingers across the surface, you act without fully realizing what you are doing. Your arm takes hold of his to wrench it away, but not quickly enough. You don’t know what happens next- there is light, and a tugging sensation in your stomach, and a dizzying fall, and then you are in darkness. There is pain, and something burning within your veins, and then…

Nothing.

You don’t know how much time has passed when you wake up. You don’t know where you are- it’s not the ruins, but it’s not the forest, either. It’s dark, and damp, and the ground you’re laying on has the cold smoothness of stone.

And Tamlen isn’t here. You stagger to your feet, calling out into the darkness.

“Tamlen? _”_

You strain your ears for any sign of response, praying to whichever god might be able to hear you from… wherever you are. Echoes of your voice fill the cavern, and the faint response is almost masked. But you hear it.

You follow the voice until at last you find him _,_ pale and sickly but alive. He rushes to you, frantic. “There you are! What happened? Where are we? What was that mirror?”

You shake your head weakly. “I don’t know any more than you do.” Up close, Tamlen looks even worse- all the color has drained from his face, and his movements are slow and weak. “Are you okay? You look…”

Tamlen interrupts your statement with a hacking cough. He looks up at you with a sheepish smile. “About as good as I feel, I assume? You don’t look so well, either.”

He’s probably right. You’ve been fighting off the weakness ever since you awoke. You knees wobble unsteadily beneath you, and your entire body is sore and feverish.

“Maybe we… fell through the floor of the ruins or something,” you say, trying to push the sick feelings away, “We have to find our way back.”

With both of you weak on your feet, the going is slow. All you can do is trust your instincts and pray you’re not moving deeper underground. In time, however, your movements become more confident. You still don’t know where you are, but you feel something… calling to you.

The feeling gets stronger until you turn a corner and see a towering creature in your path. You freeze, terrified. The… thing before you is decayed, inhuman, unnatural. But when it speaks, its voice is calm and intelligent.

“Do not be afraid. I am the Architect.” It reaches out a hand, and you shiver at the sight of its long, spindly fingers. “You have been tainted. I can help you.”


End file.
